


Because I Could Not Stop For Death

by RoboticNebula



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Granby's bad luck, Laurence is the mom friend but doesn't know it, M/M, Shenanigans, Temeraire Summer Exchange 2020, Tharkay and Granby bonding, but with a touch of magical realism added, loosely inspired by The Old Guard, or is it good luck?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoboticNebula/pseuds/RoboticNebula
Summary: It is well known amongst aviators that John Granby is prone to injuries, and really Granby is glad for it. It would be a lot harder for him to explain that he – literally – cannot be killed.
Relationships: John Granby & Iskierka, John Granby/Augustine Little
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44
Collections: Temeraire Summer Exchange 2020





	Because I Could Not Stop For Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmilliaGryphon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilliaGryphon/gifts).



> Because I could not stop for Death –  
> He kindly stopped for me –  
> The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  
> And Immortality.  
> (Emily Dickinson)
> 
> This story is inspired from a joke I made to myself: what if all the times Granby got injured were actually extremely lucky because anyone else in his position would have died? 
> 
> And then it all came together when I watched The Old Guard and had the idea for (kind of) immortal Granby. 
> 
> This is a gift for EmilliaGryphon for the Temeraire Summer Exchange 2020! I had fun writing and I hope you will enjoy reading it!

The first John Granby heard of it was from his grandmother, shortly after his father’s death. He remembered being in the kitchen, having just finished dinner but still being hungry. His grandmother pat him on the head as she picked up his empty plate. 

“You could send this one to the Aerial Corps. He’s of the right age already,” she said to his mother. 

Granby immediately straightened up in his chair. With a covert right next door, every kid in the village knew what the aerial corps was. There were stories of cows going missing, great shadows masking the midday sun and of naughty girls and boys being sent there never to be seen again. Granby did not think of himself as particularly naughty, but he was old enough to be curious about dragons without being scared of them and he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be sent away from the room before he got the chance to hear more about them. His mother looked up from her own empty plate, dark, tired eyes looking through him rather than at him. 

“It’s awfully dangerous,” she replied. 

His grandmother laughed, dismissing the comment with a wave of her hand. 

“He’s a Granby. We have a strong constitution, you know that!” 

The only hint that the comment was odd was his mother’s reaction. The way she tensed, pursed her lips and looked away from him. It was the same reaction she always had whenever he or his brothers got injured, the one that used to make his father laugh and loudly declare that “she really shouldn’t be so sensible about this.” 

But in the end she seemed to like the idea well enough. The very next day she handed Granby a letter and sent him on his way. Granby forgot all about the conversation until 3 years later, when he was – quite literally – hit with what it meant. 

It was a stupid accident. He and the other kids were practicing climbing on the cliffs, except they were also racing up and not being careful. Granby, in a bid to get the upper hand, tried to jump upwards, lost his footing and fell. 

The last thing he saw was the ground racing up to meet him and then darkness. 

He woke up to a splitting headache, the doctor looking equally irritated and relieved. 

“You absolute fool,” he spat, “You’re lucky you didn’t crack your head open!”

John Granby had fallen a good 12 metres and gotten out of it with nothing more serious than a headache and a bunch of scratches. As confusing as it was and as many times as he was reprimanded by his instructors for his carelessness, Granby left the infirmary that day feeling unbreakable. 

He mentioned the incident in his next letter to his grandmother, hoping she could tell him more, but she wasn’t very helpful. 

“Just don’t loose a limb,” was all she wrote back, “they don’t grow back, your great-grandfather proved that.”

XX

At 18, he got an early promotion to lieutenant after throwing himself in front of a bullet for Captain Jonhson. It hit him right below the heart, pain like he’d never felt before blooming across his chest and robbing him of his breath. To everyone’s surprise however, the bullet was found just under skin, nowhere near the heart and was dug out easily. 

The wound healed completely in the space of two days and Granby spent the following week of mandated rest pretending to still be injured. 

It was a useful perk for an aviator to be sure and Granby quickly earned himself a reputation for getting all sorts of injured but always escaping death. He tried not to use it too often, unwilling to attract attention, but there were only so many times he could watch one of his fellow aviators die in action when he had the ability to survive. This thing was no exact science, but by god was he going to make sure it was well used. 

Granby’s next assignment after his promotion was on the parnassian Adeodatus. Augustine Little served as first lieutenant and Granby took a liking to him at first sight. He was a kind and quiet man, excellent at keeping a crew running and with a brilliant smile that made butterflies flutter in Granby’s stomach. In a bid to get closer, Granby asked him for some advice for his sketches which led to long evenings of talking, quiet breakfasts together and one memorable drunken celebration pranking Chenery. 

They shared their first kiss the day Little became captain, sitting in the grass under the sun, shielded from view by Immortalis’ bulk. 

Granby was unreasonably giddy when he was temporarily assigned to Immortalis during trials for the new crew. He knew it was best not to mix duty and personal attachments, but for now, the romantic part of him shook with delight at the prospect of spending more time together before he was reassigned. He should have known better than to be carried away, however, because of course it wasn’t that simple. 

They were sent to Cádiz to fill in until a more experienced formations made their way back from Gibraltar. It was meant to be a relatively simple mission to ease the new formation into action, but the Spanish apparently saw their change and they were attacked one morning during their patrol of the coast.

A surprisingly swift Spanish middleweight dropped down on them from above. Immortalis startled badly and tried diving downwards, throwing everyone on board off balance. Granby got back to his feet in time to see half a dozen Spanish aviators lock on to the main harness. From his position at the back, he was too far away and could only watch in astonishment when a burly man with the stripes of a second lieutenant managed to push his way to the front, shouldering midwingman Connor and Lieutenant Jacob out of his way. Little narrowly dodged the hilt of the sword meant to knock him out, but promptly froze at the gun aimed squarely at his head. 

A cold flash of fear burst in Granby’s chest and he acted without thinking. He unclipped his carabiners and lunged forward, crossing the whole distance of Immortalis’ back in a few steps and tackled the man. The Spaniard held firm on his feet, but Granby had caught the arm holding the gun and managed to twist it away from Little’s head. He used his height to push the other man off balance and together they tumbled over the side. 

The Spanish aviator was still locked on to the harness so they didn’t go far but in their struggle they found themselves entangled in the carabiners and the straps of the netting. In another show of strength, the other man broke Granby’s grip on him and Granby slipped further down. 

He felt the leather strap tighten around his neck, cutting off all his air at once, sharp pain travelling along the back of his head, and promptly passed out. 

Granby woke up to Little’s pale face leaning above him. His very first thought was relief to see him unharmed but a weird, croaking noise came out when he tried to tell him as much, his throat too sore for words. 

“Don’t talk, don’t talk,” said Little, frantically, “We’ve got you.” 

He was bundled away into the lower harness, where he stayed until they returned to the covert and a doctor came to see him. Predictably, nothing life threatening was found and Granby patiently endured the suggestions he rest his voice so he could leave and go look for Little as quickly as possible.

He found him sitting on the roof of the fortress where aviators had established residence. His sketchbook was in his lap, untouched and he was staring at the city skyline, seemingly lost in thought because he startled slightly when Granby touched his shoulder. 

“John, how are you doing?” he asked, voice rough. 

“The doctor found nothing to worry about,” said Granby, sitting shoulder to shoulder next to him. 

The hard line of Little's shoulders relaxed and he smiled, but something was still not quite right. Little kept his hands in his lap and said nothing until Granby gently bumped their shoulders together. 

“I saw you die,” he said, freezing the blood in Granby’s veins. 

It didn’t sound like a question, but Granby had no idea how to react. Little still seemed badly shaken and he suddenly wasn’t sure if it was worry or because he was freaked out by what he saw. He tried to brush it off. 

“I didn’t,” he said.

“I saw you die,” insisted Little, more firmly, “when you fell, I saw your neck snap-”

Little swallowed thickly, blinking once, twice as if fighting back tears and this time he reached across them to tangle their fingers together. It calmed the panic brewing inside Granby. Little would not be so close if he was scared of him, he reasoned, and he knew what he had seen even if he did not understand it. Now that Granby was presented with the opportunity to actually talk about what he could do, he was taken with a desperate need to share. 

“My grandmother liked to say Granbys have a strong constitution,” he said, wryly, “I don’t really know how or why, but I heal quickly and deadly injuries tend to not be so deadly for me.”

“You’re immortal?” asked Little, sounding even more confused. 

Out loud, it did sound utterly ridiculous and Granby laughed sharply. 

“Not exactly, I do grow old. I’m just very hard to kill,” he said, and Little stared at him, still disbelieving. 

“You saw it happen,” Granby reminded him, gently. 

That finally convinced him and Little nodded to himself, a small frown remaining on his face but tension leaving his body.

“Does is hurt? Dying?” he asked. 

“I usually don’t feel it. Injuries are worse.” 

“You died to save me,” said Little. 

“Mmm, and I would do it again,” replied Granby, firmly. 

He could tell Little still had questions, but Granby did not have many more answers and he was tired. He laid his head in the crook of Little’s neck and shoulder which had the desired effect of getting Little to curl closer to him and running a hand through his hair. 

“I am glad you’re ok,” said Little, hugging him tight. 

Granby never wanted either of them to let go. 

XX

“You have to be more careful.” 

The words whispered against his neck sliced through the silence of the room like a sharp knife through butter and pulled Granby from his pleasant doze. There was a slight chill in the air, partly from the open window and partly from the sweat drying on his skin, but Little was a comfortable weight at his side and Granby had been on the brink of falling asleep. 

Little wasn’t looking at him. His fingers were lightly tracing the edge of a wound on his leg, a cut from a Frenchman’s sword gained the day before but already healed to a scar. Little had been oddly fixated on it all evening. 

“It will be gone by morning,” Granby reminded him. 

He meant for the words to be reassuring, but Little sighed heavily and rolled over on his back and away from him until they were only laying side by side. 

“That does not mean you should be taking unnecessary risks,” he said, still not looking at him. 

Little’s eyes fixed on the ceiling above them and there was an odd note to his voice. This wasn’t the first time he had asked Granby to be more careful, but it was the first time he seemed insistent on it. 

“We know nothing about the limits of this thing, what if one day it stops working?” asked Little suddenly, taking Granby by surprise. 

“What brought this on?” He asked. 

Little reached down to caress the scar again and Granby took his chance to catch the reaching hand between his and tangling their fingers together. 

“You take longer to heal than you used to,” said Little, finally. 

Granby really could not help the pleased smile that escaped him. The thought of Little paying so much attention warmed him all over. He lifted himself on an elbow, finally getting Little to look over at him and brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. 

“You’ve been keeping track?” he asked, teasing. 

“Not the point,” Little mumbled, but accepted the soft kiss dropped on his lips. 

“We know nothing about your healing,” repeated Little, when they parted for air. 

Granby understood then that this was not just a passing thought, that Little would not drop the subject until he gave him something. But as much as he wanted to ease his worries, the idea of promising to be careful when he could make sacrifices others couldn’t felt unbearably selfish.

“If it will ease your worries, I will try to be more careful,” said Granby eventually. 

Little did not seem entirely satisfied, but he did not insist further, either too tired to do so or too keen to have his worries abated. They did not speak of it again until three months later, when Laetificat was sent to provide emergency help to the British navy along the coast of Dover, along with Immortalis and Invicta, another yellow reaper. 

It was an incredibly messy battle. From the very beginning, Laetificat was locked in a skirmish with a Grand Chevalier, the two circling each other relentlessly as they roared and took swipes with their talons. Immortalis and Invicta were left to fend off the Flamme-de-Gloire, diverting her away from the ships, furiously firing at each other below them. 

One moment, Laetificat was in the air, the next she was practically thrown down onto one of the ships when the Grand Chevalier unexpectedly head-butted her hard enough to stun her. She recovered in time to avoid falling in the water, but not quickly enough to avoid the ship, crushing the back and dragging a few masts back up with her. The mess of rope and wood was not enough to prevent her from flying completely, but weighed her down considerably. 

Granby reacted without thinking, quickly climbing down to the underbelly netting and hacking away at the ropes entangled in the harness. Unfortunately, he did not let go quickly enough and when the mass finally slid free he was dragged down with it and into the cold water. 

He woke up a full two days later in the medical building of the Dover covert, the longest he had ever been out. Little was at his side, his own arm tightly wrapped in bandages. An audible sigh of relief escaped him when he saw Granby was awake, but before Granby could say anything, he was on his feet, practically shaking with anger. 

“What happened to being careful?” He asked, voice cold with fury. 

Little did not get angry often and it threw Granby off balance to see him this way, especially since this anger was directed at him, for doing his duty. 

“It had to be done,” he said, but his attempt at reasoning was met with more anger. 

“It did not. Laetificat was in no immediate danger, another dragon would have come to help.”

That was an unfair assessment, Little wasn’t there he couldn’t know exactly how dire the situation was, and he certainly could not blame Granby for protecting Laetificat and her crew. 

“We don’t know that it would have been fine,” said Granby, defensive, “that battle was a mess, I saw an opportunity, and I took it -” 

“And you died!” Interrupted Little, “You died, and if Immortalis hadn’t spotted you, where would you be now? At the bottom of the ocean?”

All at once, Little stopped talking, taking a breath that sounded like a gasp and only then did Granby notice the tears trailing down his cheeks. 

Granby would learn later that Immortalis had been the one to fish him out amongst the debris. That his body had been cold, lips blue, that Captain Little had hit him in the chest until Granby vomited a considerable amount of sea water. A miracle! Sheer luck! His fellow aviators would thump him enthusiastically on the back for this accomplishment. 

“Do you know what it feels like to watch you die over and over?” asked Little, voice shaking. 

And when Granby had no answers for him, he turned around and left.

XX

Although they did not speak of it again, something had broken between them. Granby and Little stopped seeing each other outside of their duties, neither willing to be the first to reach out. Granby spent this time being perhaps a little too insolent with the new captain freshly fished out from the navy, but he missed Little terribly. Being assigned to Temeraire and then to Lily’s formation made it even worse since it meant he had to see him everyday without being able to talk to him and it drove him crazy. 

Laurence proved himself an unexpected friend, however, and put quite a few things in perspective. It was a lot harder to protect a man who refused to let his officers shield him from combat and was just as keen to take risks himself. The first few weeks, Granby even suspected that Captain Laurence might actually be like him. 

But no, the man was perfectly normal. He would get himself in some truly despairing situations and somehow, most of the time, come out on the other end without a scratch. It drove Granby up the wall and more than once, it made him think of Little and how he had worried. Was this what it felt like? Every time, he dismissed the thought because the situations were different, weren’t they?

The facts were that Granby could not be killed. Laurence could and that gave him the right to worry. 

It’s why he kept doing what he did best: protect his captain – his friend – at all costs. 

It’s why he did not hesitate to throw himself around without carabiners when they were almost overwhelmed in battle. 

It’s why he was too focused on getting Laurence strapped onto Temeraire and away during the attack of the Valerie that he got hit by that bullet. 

The fever that followed was the worse he ever experienced. He had no strength for anything but to lay in the hammock soaked with his own sweat, all his limbs were shaking, his head felt foggy and his throat was dry as sand. It was a brutal reminder that he had no idea how his healing actually worked, which was exactly what Little had been trying to tell him. He did not understand, more grievous wounds had taken less time to heal, what was different about this one? It struck him for the first time that he wasn’t unbreakable and the thought scared him. 

When he was finally well enough to step upon deck and breathe some fresh air, Temeraire was the first one to greet him, fussing over his wellbeing and immediately ushering him to his side where Laurence had been brooding. The man had dozens of other problems on his mind, but wasted no time in letting Granby know exactly what he thought of his behavior during the attack. 

“Mr. Granby, I understand that you are doing your duty, but I would ask that you have more regard for your own wellbeing!” He waited for Granby to nod in understand before softening and continuing, “I consider you a friend, and I would hate to see you killed on my behalf.” 

It was a strangely comforting scolding. 

XX

Being a captain was everything he had ever dreamed of and never dared hope for, but it was jarring to suddenly find himself the one shielded from combat. Granby still itched to step up and intervene when one of his officers was in danger but he understood why he had to stay put. It was what he had been trying to get into Laurence’s head for years after all, and his crew already had enough problems without adding his own impulses to the mix. 

Granby loved Iskierka to bits, he really did, but there were more than a few close calls. All things considered, he probably deserved a dragon that flew into danger like it was a herd of cows for breakfast.

He would not trade it for the world, however. Flying with her was the most exhilarating thing he had ever done. It made patrolling the coast of Dover on their own, a task simultaneously anxiety inducing and boring, a lot easier. Granby tried not to think too much of the reason why they were alone in the sky. Laurence and Temeraire had left a week ago with the rest of Lily’s formation in hopes of finding the cure to the dragon sickness and Granby prayed, prayed that they would be successful. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to Little, part of him not thinking he had any right to offer comfort at the moment, no matter how desperately he wanted to. 

Between the acquisition of a new dragon and the dragon sickness, Granby will admit to being somewhat distracted and it completely slipped his mind that his invulnerability would have been worth mentioning to Iskierka. 

It was a bright, sunny day and the sea was calm when they were attacked by a single Pêcheur-Rayé making a beeline for the English shore. Iskierka did not wait to be told before going after him, flying upwards to intercept him with a screech of delight. At the last minute, the Pêcheur changed direction, dropping down towards them and using their own speed against them. They flew right past each other, forcing a surprised Iskierka to fly a long loop to continue the pursuit and their speed advantage was lost to surprise. The pêcheur backtracked faster than they could and managed to position himself right above them, allowing five Frenchmen to drop onto Iskierka’s back. 

It was Iskierka’s first boarding, and she panicked. Instead of putting some distance between her and the other dragon, she immediately flew closer to try and get a hold of him, no matter how much Granby shouted at her to disengage. More French aviators managed to make their way over, forcing Granby’s crew to the defensive and only the advantage of numbers prevented them from getting overwhelmed. Everyone was so occupied, they all missed the knife that was thrown at Granby and buried itself in his chest. 

The blade was short, but had gone in up to the hilt. Granby immediately knew it had pierced a lung when his whole right side went numb and breathing felt immensely harder. He must have shouted in pain because Iskierka twisted around to look at him, her eyes darting to the blood spreading on his shirt. Granby did not have the strength to push out words of reassurance.

With a terrifying, distressed roar, she latched herself onto the other dragon, mercilessly digging her talons into his side and twisting herself around him. She was looking for an angle to burn him and his crew to a crisp and Granby forced himself to move before that could happen. He shielded his injured side from the view of his officers and pushed all of his remaining strength into removing the blade. Blood came gushing out, making him feel faint, and he would not be able to move his right arm for some hours, but at the very least he managed to swallow enough air to call out to her. 

“Iskierka! I am fine, disengage!”

More out of surprise than obedience, Iskierka let go of the other dragon who immediately turned tail and back to France, long streaks of blood dripping from its side and into the ocean below. Iskierka was staring at him, confused and Granby laid himself down along her neck, willing her not to say anything for now as his first Lieutenant ordered them back to the covert. 

She stayed silent the whole flight back, and still when the doctor came to check him over, declaring the wound benign, and until they were finally left alone in her clearing. She curled herself around him, nosing at him so she could inspect him from all angles, her confusion growing more evident as she became more and more agitated. 

“There was too much blood,” she hissed, “I know what I saw!” 

The low rumble of anger in her voice was miles better than the complete silence she had been in previously and Granby rubbed her nose soothingly. 

“I know,” he said, “there is something I need to tell you.”

He explained what little he knew of his apparent invulnerability, carefully insisting on his continued aging so she would not get a shock a few years down the line, and on the limitation of missing limbs. 

“I do not like it,” she declared once he was done. 

“Really? I thought you would be happy to know I am harder to kill than average.”

Why was it that no one but him saw it as an advantage, he wondered. Iskierka did not even bother considering the question. 

“No. You dying and getting hurt means I am not protecting you well enough. This won’t do.”

She sounded distressed and curled herself tighter about him. Granby was cradled against warm scales and at loss as to what to do. It wasn’t like Iskierka to be sad and he suddenly found himself missing her usual outbursts of anger. 

“I am trying to be careful,” he said. 

“Do you promise? Promise that you will avoid it as much as possible?”

Little had made the same request, and Granby had been unwilling to give his word. In that moment, he found his younger self absolutely foolish. 

“I promise,” he swore, “I will not place myself in unnecessary danger.”

Iskierka rumbled in satisfaction and finally settled down, still cradling him close to her chest. 

“Does anyone else know?” she asked, voice still quieter than normal. 

“Only one other.”

“Augustine Little?”

He nodded, surprised at her perceptiveness since he had never given her the details of his relationship with Little. 

“Good, he can help take care of you,” she declared. 

And Granby did not have the heart to explain it might be too late, that he had managed to push Augustine away a long time ago. 

XX

In New South Wales, Granby tried as much as possible not to venture outside of camp. Everything on this wretched continent was trying to kill them and true to his promise to Iskierka, he was trying to avoid life threatening situations. Except this time he had chosen to accompany Tharkay in his search for water in a desperate attempt to escape Rankin and his whining. 

They were on their way back to camp, their water supply successfully replenished and the headache pounding at his temples finally lessened to dull ache. Another sandstorm was fast approaching. Black clouds filled with sand were gathering on the horizon and heading straight for them and they were walking as fast as they could to stay ahead of it. Granby was walking at the front when suddenly, Tharkay barreled into him and pushed him several steps away. 

An enormous snake dropped down from the tree right next to them and bit Tharkay in the shoulder.

Granby scrambled to his feet, rushing to Tharkay’s aid and successfully slicing off its head, but it was too late. Tharkay crumpled to the ground, face drained of colour and breath shallow. Granby rolled him onto his back, tried rinsing the bloody wound with their water and when that wasn’t enough thumped him on the chest as hard as he could. 

Tharkay stopped breathing completely. Granby could not find a pulse, his hands shaking as he desperately checked his neck and wrists. 

“No, no, no, what the hell do you think you’re doing,” he hissed. 

He pressed his ear to his chest and heard no heartbeat. He shook him, once, twice and the body – Tharkay did not react. Tharkay was…dead? Tharkay was dead. Tharkay was dead because he had pushed Granby out of the way, the damned fool.

The sandstorm was still getting closer. Granby had to get back to camp. Granby had to bring Tharkay’s body back to camp and the very thought of Laurence’s reaction, his devastation - 

On the ground, Tharkay startled awake. 

“Ouch,” he said, “that one was not pleasant.”

Granby almost jumped out of his skin and fell back on the dirt as Tharkay sat up, as if just woken from a nap. 

“Tharkay? You’re alive?” he asked, not trusting his own eyes. 

“Yes? Why are you so surprised? You’re the same, aren’t you?”

Granby was sure he had a thousand questions if only the screeching of a hundred ferals inside his head could stop for a moment.

“How do you know?” was the first thing that slipped out.

The look Tharkay gave him was halfway between exasperated and perplexed. 

“You are not exactly subtle, especially when I know what to look for,” he pointed out. 

Granby shook his head, still completely disbelieving. 

“But then, why push me out of the way if you knew I would survive?”

“You have been overdoing it. Coming back would have taken you too long.”

Granby’s headache returned tenfold. He was too hot and exhausted and his heart was still thumping wildly in his chest. He wanted to cry so instead he started laughing hysterically, Tharkay growing more and more worried next to him. 

“Well, this thing doesn’t exactly come with an instruction manual!” Shouted Granby. 

He buried his face in his hands, pressing the palms into his eyes until he saw spots, willing himself to calm down. He was eternally grateful when Tharkay stayed silent next to him. 

“I didn’t think there was anyone else like me,” he said after a few deep breaths. 

He thought of the look in his mother’s eyes, that one time his grandmother had mentioned his healing and of his grandmother’s letter and all the answers it did not have. He wondered if they did not say anything because they did not have the answers or if fear had been the only thing keeping them silent. Tharkay frowned at him before nodding in understanding. 

“My father never liked when my mother talked about it either,” he admitted quietly, “I don’t actually know much more than you do, but yes there are a few others and the more often you die, the longer it takes you to come back.”

The single clear thought that, at last, rang into Granby’s head was Little had been right and Granby had never taken the time to consider the possibility. It struck a bone-deep weariness within him. 

“Then what is the fucking point?” he sighed. 

He did not necessarily expect Tharkay to have an answer, but the other man surprised him yet again. He huffed out a laugh and smiled, bittersweet. 

“My mother used to say it was a sign we would have loved ones to protect,” he said, almost wistful. 

It was horribly sentimental but Granby found that he liked it. Iskierka immediately came to mind, followed closely by Little and at the thought of them both, the adrenaline of the day drained out of him, at last. 

“And? Have you found those loved one?” Granby could not help but ask. 

Tharkay’s entire countenance seemed to soften. 

“Yes. I think I might have.”

Then he patted him on the knee and stood up, swiftly walking away. 

“Come on, I do not want to experience death by sandstorm,” he said.

He sounded completely serious. Granby started laughing. 

XX

His fever in Brazil came second to the one he had experienced after the attack of the Valérie. Between the hot and cold flashes, he was distantly aware he no longer had a left arm but more importantly, it gave him an odd sort of clarity. He didn’t know how he’d done it for so long, but he was tired. He was not satisfied with being in recovery from death, he wanted to live.

As if to reward him for this realisation, he dreamt Little was sitting in the chair next to him. It was a very pleasant dream, Augustine had always been his favourite sight to wake up to. Granby really missed kissing him good morning. He missed the way Little would smile and blush, the exact same way dream Little was doing now. When he saw him again, Granby swore he would talk to him and try to mend things. On that thought, he slipped into deeper sleep. 

It was sundown when he truly woke up. The room bathed in a golden glow, sharp shadows carved into the light against the walls and Little was still there, very much real. 

“Welcome back,” he told Granby, a soft smile on his lips.

“Are we still in Brazil?” grunted Granby, confused, “What are you doing here?”

“Lily’s formation was sent as reinforcement, but really Captain Laurence and you seem to have handled it.” 

There was a teasing tilt to his smile and Granby suspected he had heard all about his misadventures with the Incan impress already. It was mortifying. Granby never wanted to hear talks of marriage again. But he could deal with that later. Right now he didn’t want to get distracted, he had something to say and he wanted to do it now. Granby struggled to sit up, quietly relieved when Little immediately moved to help him and propped him up against the pillow. Granby caught his forearm with his good hand before he could move away again. 

“I thought about what you said,” he told him, as if their argument had been mere minutes ago, even though it felt like they had been apart for entire lifetimes, “and I wanted to apologise, you were right.”

Little shook his head, reaching up to fix the collar of Granby’s shirt and Granby leaned into the soft, familiar touch.

“I have been meaning to apologise as well,” said Little, “If I hadn’t taken out my frustrations on you, maybe we could have talked it out properly.”

“You had every right to be mad,” huffed Granby, “I was a damned fool at the time.”

“I was never really mad at you,” admitted Little, “I was just… worried.”

Granby allowed himself to truly look at him, every line of Augustine’s face still achingly familiar but at the same time changed since the last time he saw him. There was a new scar on his forehead, probably more under his clothes. Granby could not wait to ask him all about the missing years, regretful of the time lost but so unbelievably grateful for the new chance. 

“I missed you,” said Granby. 

“I know,” teased Little, smiling brightly, “you said some interesting things in your sleep.” 

Granby felt his cheeks flush for reasons unrelated to fever and he groaned in embarrassment, the sting soothed by Little’s delighted laugh. He pulled Little towards him, demanding a kiss before slumping back against the pillow, all his energy exhausted. 

“I missed you so much,” he said again. 

“And I, you,” said Little. 

Granby fell back asleep with a smile on his face and the feeling of soft lips on his forehead. 

XX

The true miracle happened in Spain when Granby did not get seriously injured, mauled or killed in any shape or form. That is not to say it was easy. War was a messy business and it could be hard to take a step back and let others intervene after a lifetime of stepping in. But he was a captain now, and he could not preach caution to Iskierka if he himself will drop it at the first sign of trouble. And he found that he liked being awake for the aftermath of battle, whether it was to help around the camp or, on the good days, to get some real rest. 

The worst he got was a cut on his remaining arm after pulling one of his midwingman out of the way of a sword aimed at his heart. 

“Mr. Carter is very enthusiastic,” he told Little later that evening, faux-complaining, “but really he should be more careful, I won’t be there to pull him out of the way every time.”

They had made camp near a stream, not far from some rapids and most aviators had jumped at the chance to go for a swim. Granby was sitting on the rocks, Little standing in front of him in the water to patch him up. Granby fully indulged in the attention and smiled proudly when Little declared the wound “barely a scratch by your standards” and wrapped it loosely in a bandage, mostly to keep appearances. 

“You can just admit you get a thrill out of it,” Little teased him gently, dropping a quick kiss on Granby’s knee. 

A quick look around confirmed they were alone, so Granby did not hesitate to retaliate. He caught Little by the waist, and threw them both into the cold water of the spring. Little shouted in surprise as they were submerged but let himself be pulled in a hug, arms wrapping around Granby’s shoulders as he lifted them out of the water. 

Granby traced all the new scars on Little’s body with his tongue and trailed soft kisses up his sternum, moving upwards until they were face to face. Little’s hands were warm where they framed his face and he leaned in once more to finally catch those lips in a deep kiss. 

When they parted for breath, Little was smiling against his skin. Granby was struck with how beautiful he was and he tightened his grip, bringing them closer still and burying his face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and salt. 

“It doesn’t compare,” he whispered, “It doesn’t compare to how I feel when I’m with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was aiming for 3k at first, but of course it just… kept getting longer. 
> 
> Small fun fact: the name “Adeodatus” was apparently the name of a son of Saint Augustine so I could not resist using it as the name for the dragon where Little and Granby meet.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! And EmilliaGryphon I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
